Safe and Sound
by Little Girl in Plaid
Summary: Benson wonders why his avian employee seems so familiar. Perhaps they've met before? Fluffers.


_I'm so excited for this, omg. Cute little feels._

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_Safe and Sound_

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_._

_"Where are we going?"_

"Nowhere." But he remembered the warmth of her feather wrapping around his own, gripping it tight, and pulling him towards the door. There's a note on the door, and he stops, digs his sneakers into the ground and tries to read it. The letters are big and blocky, and important. The font color's a bright red, and he squints trying to make out the letters. He's just learned sentences this week, and how to form them from words. But he can't read this word, he's never heard it, nor was it in any of the books at school.

"What does that say?" he points at the letter, but she doesn't respond. He feels his mother's grip around his wrist and she'd tugging him forward again, "Where are we going?"

They don't stop, though he remembers stumbling once, twice. He stills has soft cuts across his palms that never seem to fade. She was so frantic, knocking on every apartment door, pounding her fists against the office. "I need this. I need job," she cried out. Above them the sky dimmed, and the day turned to early twilight.

"Can we go home now?" he asked.

"No," she responded almost instantly, squeezing his palm, "But it's going to be okay Mordecai."

"Why can't we go home?"

He remembers the breath she took, deep and hollow as she played with her words, figuring how to say it, "I forgot."

"You forgot?"

"To pay."

"Pay?"

"But don't worry about that now, I'll make sure you're safe."

The air cuts through them like a knife. It's not a particularly strong wind, but it's October, and she forgot to grab their jackets. She forgot to grab a lot of things.

"Stupid. Stupid," she murmured placing her freehand against her forehead, "I didn't even prepare."

"I'm cold." She glanced down at him. She was a tall bluejay, with long feathers the color of the sky a nice day. Her black mark markings were faded, and the white of her stomach was dusty and grey. People used to tell him he'd look like her when he was older. He remembered hoping they were right.

She placed to feathers around him, and pulled him into her arms, cuddling him close, "It's going to be okay. " She said it so many times, over and over again, as they continued down the street, even way after the sun had sent, and she could barely see. He stills wonders if he meant just for him, or for the both of them.

.

When Mordecai awoke the next morning, he was alone on a bench. The metal beneath him was freezing, and small puffs of smoke escaped from his beak with every breath.

"Mom?" he tried, swaying his head from side to side, as he looked for her, "Mom, where are you?"

A pungent stench hits him in response and he realizes it's an old blanket, worn and patched, and smelling rather bad. He pushes it away, despite the warmth it provides. Still there's no sign of his mother. Mordecai wraps his wings around the edge of the bench and gently lowers himself to the ground. Despite the cold, a number of people are out and about, huddled tightly in jackets, with cups of steaming coffee in cupped hands. Mordecai's never favored the drink, but at this point, he'd go for anything to warm himself up, even something as stale and heart-racing as the caffeinated beverage.

But he'd worry about that later. First he had to find his mother. Mordecai began his search by retracing their steps from the night before, calling out his mother's name every so often. He received brief glances, but nothing more. The small bird, wrapped his wings tighter around his body as the wind picked up, chilling him to the bone. But that wasn't the worst of it. He reached the end of the block without a hitch, until they reached the crosswalk, which Mordecai stopped at with a soft whine. He wasn't allowed to cross the streets by himself.

"Aw man," murmured the little bird, he turned on his toes and headed back toward the bench. He was almost back, when he felt himself collide with a pair of legs, except they didn't feel like regular legs. They were cold to the touch, like the poles in that Christmas movie where the kid got his tongue stuck. "S-sorry!" replied Mordecai rubbing the bump that had begun forming on his forehead, "I wasn't l-looking."

Mordecai expected a retort, perhaps a snappy older person, like their landlord, a grouchy old dog who threatened to turn off their cable (and Mordecai's videogames every other week). At the thought of his videogames, and then their apartment, home, and finally his mother, Mordecai felt his eyes well up. He was tried, and god, it was cold outside. He just wanted to come home, and sit out the cold with his mother, and maybe watch a cheesy movie or two.

He'd thought the other had left, disgusted by the child that had run head first without looking, but instead he felt cold metal fingers (not unlike the legs), wrap around his waist and lift him into the air. Mordecai trembled, but then he was moving, thrusting both arms and legs, around and around, this way and that. If only he'd worn that stupid whistle for stranger danger, like his mother had told him to, but no, it was to uncool, and now some creeper was going to put him in his car. And oh god, this day couldn't get any worse. Mordecai placed his feathers over his eyes, "If you're going to kill me, be fast okay? Like they do in those kung fu movies I'm not supposed to watch, but they're free on cable on Tuesdays."

Instead of feeling himself being ripped in two, or thrown into some strange van, he heard a soft voice say, "Are you lost?" Mordecai opened his eyes, and looked at the kind face before him.

"Huh?"

"A-are you lost?"

"I want to go home," the bluejay replied, "And I can't find my Mom. And I don't know where I live anymore, or anything. I woke up on a bench." He knew he was babbling, but the strange said nothing, unlike his mother, who used to playfully grab his beak and tell him to slow down. At the thought, he felt himself tear up all over again.

"Don't cry. It's going to be okay. What's you're name?" the man asked kindly.

"I- I'm M-Mordecai," he sniffed.

"That's a nice name."

"What's y-your name?"

"Benson."


End file.
